


Easy to Remember, Harder to Move On

by LittleMagicFox



Series: A Home Inside Your Heart [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Beauty and the Beast inspired, Lobelia sackville-baggins is awful, M/M, Pre-Relationship, The Shire, but we all know that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 01:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMagicFox/pseuds/LittleMagicFox
Summary: Bilbo finally returns home to the Shire, but can it really be considered home when Gandalf was right all along? That when you come home, you won't be the same?





	Easy to Remember, Harder to Move On

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for taking so long with this one! It fought me the whole way, and then I took sick and had to go to the ER, and then my dad had surgery and I've been helping with him. I hope you enjoy it, and I'm sorry if the tenses get a little wonky. 
> 
> My forever grateful thanks to Vtforpedro. Lisa listens to me bitch and complain about writing like a champ, and is one of the major reasons this thing even got posted in the first place, let alone continued. Please go read her fics because they are incredible and she deserves ALL of the love.
> 
> The song at the end of the story is How Does a Moment Last Forever (Montmartre) - Belle from the new live action Beauty and the Beast. Please give it a listen! :)

When Bilbo and Gandalf had first shown up at Beorn's door, the skinchanger had looked around skeptically, expecting another group to be following close behind them, but when he saw the despondent look on Bilbo's face, he quickly gathered the small hobbit up into his massive arms and ferreted him away to the dining room table. Immediately Bilbo was being bombarded with breads and milks and different spreads of jams, jellies and honey.

Bilbo thought about fighting Beorn off, of running off to a corner of his garden and sulking, but he owed the Skinchanger more than just his _own_ life, he owed him the lives of Fili, Kili _and_ Thorin, for had he not shown up when he did with the Eagles of Manwe, Bilbo would’ve never been able to get the three dwarves back to the valley in time for healers to save them. So he allowed Beorn to cart him around the large abode, feeding him an assortment of fresh baked goods and berries, while telling him all about the aftermath of the battle.

He struggled when it came to telling Beorn about Thorin, about the goldlust, and why he left. How he didn’t really _want_ to leave, but if he hadn't left then there would have been no chance of them ever being able to move past their issues. 

Beorn was, understandably upset at learning that Thorin had treated Bilbo as appallingly as he did, but Bilbo managed to talk the skinchanger down from his anger and was able to make Beorn see that Thorin's action were not his own, and that he’d been unable to control his own thoughts. Beorn accepted the explanation, although not without making his disapproval known. 

Bilbo spent the next few days lounging around the overly large house, walking through the garden where all the plants, and animals, were prepared for winter. The beehives were quiet, all the bees inside quietly sleeping, and the flowers were covered with mulch and burlap sacs to protect them from winter’s biting grasp.

Bilbo spent as much time as he could with Beorn, however the large man was determined to talk about things Bilbo would rather not think about, like the ring that flashed colours and shined in the sun when he brought it out of his pockets to admire. Bilbo had been reluctant to talk about it, because he didn’t want to bring up any more sad emotions in himself, but in the end when he told Beorn about his conversation with Thorin in the town before the lake - how they had talked about courting customs and marriage - he’d felt better. He had startled when Beorn reached over and wiped the tears off his cheeks, and he’d blushed bright red. 

Beorn had pulled him close and held him gently in his big arms. His embrace was warm, and strong, not too unsimilar to Thorin's’ own, and it had brought more tears to his eyes. Bilbo hadn’t realized how much he had longed for physical comforts, but sitting in the larger man’s embrace had brought him great emotional release, and later that night when Bilbo made his way to his room and collapsed upon the soft furs that made up his bed, he found himself slipping into sleep with no struggles.

They didn’t stay at Beorn’s long, only six days total, when Gandalf finally reminded Bilbo that’d they’d need to get to leave if they wanted to beat the worst of the snowfall. Bilbo was reluctant to leave, having found comforts in the food and friendship at Beorn’s but realized quickly that Gandalf was right and he needed to get back home to the Shire. 

It’d been weeks since they’d left Beorn’s and Bilbo was quickly remembering why hobbits were better off only taking short walking holidays. After all the running, and fighting, and riding he’d done, sitting in the cart for weeks on end had quickly made Bilbo’s hips and arse sore. There’d been talk of stopping into Rivendell to stay for a few days, but determined to stay ahead of any bad weather still coming behind them, Bilbo had pressed to get home. 

The weather had been holding for the last few days as they got closer and closer to the Shire. Bilbo found himself becoming more and more anxious the closer they got. His hand constantly snuck into the pocket of Thorin’s coat, fingering the engraved ring that sat deep in the pocket. He dared not bring it out whilst they were moving, lest he drop it or lose it, but when they stopped for the night, or while he was curled up in the back of the wagon, he’d pull the ring out and carefully let it slip on his marriage finger. The first time he’d slipped it on without thinking he’d been completely shocked to find it fit his finger perfectly, only to chuckle moments later, because trust Thorin to be able to make something so perfect without even trying. 

The night before they were set to reach the Shire, Bilbo had grabbed Thorin’s big fur coat from the back of the wagon and had draped it over his shoulders, letting the hem trail along the ground as he sat and got comfortable near the fire. While spring was quickly catching up to them, and the days were warming up considerably, the nights still managed to get quite chilly, especially when the sky was clear, and the stars shined ever so brightly. Bilbo laid back, careful not to smack his head on any rocks behind him, and gazed up at the stars. It’d been almost four and a half months since he’d left Erebor, and still, he couldn’t help but miss the Mountain, and all the ones he’d left behind inside it. As the feeling of homesickness - for once not associated with the Shire - hit him, Bilbo curled up on his side tucking one arm under his head and gazing at the fire Gandalf had built. Soon he’d be back in Bag End, and could make his plans to go home again.

The next morning, when Gandalf had crouched low enough to gently shake Bilbo’s shoulder to wake him, the sun was shining brightly. Bilbo could feel the sweat beading on his back where the sun was beating down on the thick material of his - of Thorin’s - coat. Bilbo quickly flipped the coat off his back and pulled it around in front of him and started folding it. 

“Gandalf, how long do you figure it’ll be until we’ve reached the edges of Hobbiton?” he asked, quickly pushing himself up onto his feet and brushing the dirt from the edges of the coat and his pants. 

Gandalf gently hummed, allowing the pipe in his mouth to gently bounce from side to side as he sat contemplating the distance. “I’d dare to guess if we make good pace, we should cross the border shortly after mid-day, my lad.”

“Hmmm, good. I’ll admit Gandalf, I’m eager to get off this cart and off the road for a bit. I’m aching for a good spot of tea and a good meal.” Bilbo climbed up into the cart, holding the folded fabric on his lap. They’d taken to eating a cold breakfast as they travelled. Not only did it reduce the amount of time on the road, it spread their quickly dwindling supplies out further.

Gandalf chuckled as he stood beside the ponies giving one of them one last pat on the side of it’s neck before making his way over and stepping up into the wagon. “Oh yes, my friend. I can imagine you would be.”

Bilbo spent the final legs of the journey home to the Shire in silence. His thoughts were racing, how would he be welcomed home - if any of his fellow hobbits would even associate with him any longer - and just how much longer the Shire would be home after all. He needed to make plans to return to Thorin after all. The entire journey home he’d been digging around in his brain for a way to make Thorin a gift as beautiful as his ring, something to convey his feelings as well as combine their different customs the way Thorin did. 

Gandalf stopped the ponies in a section of the East Farthing woods, not too far from Bilbo’s own house, and dismounted. He held out his hand to help Bilbo down, and stood holding his pipe as Bilbo gathered Thorin’s coat and swung it over his shoulders, and his sword and the Dwarven shield he’d been gifted by the company. He quickly stuck his hand in the pocket and made sure the ring was still tucked deep inside. He turned to the cart and hefted one of the smaller chests of treasure - the one he and Gandalf had stopped to unbury - before turning back to the wizard. 

Gandalf smiled down at him, and Bilbo felt his throat get tight. They’d spent months in each others company, and though the wizard could be cryptic and vaguely annoying, Bilbo had come to treasure his companionship. 

“I should have to say that I hope you’ll let me know prior to the next time you come knocking at my door.” Bilbo sniffed, trying to keep the conversation light so they could part in joy, not sadness. Gandalf grinned, his cheeks swelling up by the size of his grin and hiding parts of his eyes. 

“Of course, my friend. I’ll bring the rest of your coin around after dark, shall I? Let you get settled in proper and perhaps save what is left of your reputation?” His grin twisted, just a tad, to where Bilbo was sure he was more smirking at him then grinning, but he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes, that would be much appreciated. And you know you’re always welcome to come ‘round for tea!” He shrugged one arm, heaving the strap of the shield further up on his shoulder. Gandalf inclined his head in acknowledgement, and Bilbo nodded sharply, “Right then, I’m off.” He quickly turned towards the path that led down into the Shire and let his feet lead him down the familiar roads and pathways that’d he’d walked his whole life.

Walking through Hobbiton was a peaceful affair. Usually the streets would be brimming with hobbits, scuttling to and from their houses and the market stalls, but not today Bilbo noted with a frown. Today all the hobbits seemed to be making their way either up or down the hill. While it wasn’t strange to see many hobbits around the hill, seeing them carrying various pieces of furniture certainly was not!

Bilbo huffed before picking up the pace. He was almost certain that the small end table he could see Mr. Noakes carrying was the one that Nori had put a huge knick in when the dwarves had gotten rowdy all those months ago. He quickly made his way up the path, winding around the party tree and up behind the knoll, and as he got closer to Bag End he could hear multiple voices chattering and then a louder voice calling out over the hum.

“Now! Do I have any offers for the next item? This is _Shire_ made! None of those silly dwarven reproductions!”

Bilbo felt his face slipping into a terrifying glare - as sworn by Kili on one of the rare occasions he’d been entirely cross on their journey - and rounded the corner. He shoved through the crowd of hobbits. He was yelling for them to stop, to put his things back when he took a glance at the item up for auction and froze - his mother’s glory box - right in front of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

“Who’re you?” She asked, turning her nose up in a snit. 

Bilbo felt his upper lip curl, a sneer coming to the front of his face, “You know _exactly_ who I am, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins!” He took a menacing step towards her, and when she stepped back he heard the rattle of metal against wood and glanced down. “And those are **my** spoons!” His hand had snapped forward, curling around the spoons and hefting them out of the drawer before he had even contemplated it, and he made his way towards his door. “And this is **my** home, and I’ll thank the lot of you to return my things and go away!”

“Excuse me!” Mr. Burrowes - the one currently auctioning all of Bilbo’s things away - called out. “It’s been more than thirteen months since the disappearance of Mister Bilbo! If you are indeed Bilbo Baggins -” he quickly pointed his finger towards Bilbo, whose brows had ridden so high up in disbelief that they were bound to fly away, before leaning over his podium. “ _And_ undeceased, can ye prove it?”

Bilbo couldn’t tell if he was more offended that these hobbits, his neighbors and family, were pretending they didn’t know him, or if he was just shocked at their stupidity because they actually didn’t recognize him. He quickly glanced around in shock before barking out a hysterical _what_ and continuing to gesture wildly.

“Well, anything really, something official, with yer name on it!” Mr Burrowes called down again, as the other hobbits began to murmur amongst themselves.

Bilbo felt the aggravation quickly bubble to the surface again, before slamming his spoons back down on one of the shelves that was sitting on the grass - ignoring the irritation that having mud, _mud!_ , on the feet of his furnature brought him, and started to dig around in his coat. He had the contract that he’d signed months ago tucked into one of the pockets on the inside, it was just a matter of remembering which one. 

“Alright, alright!” he shouted, the din of the other hobbits getting louder and louder the longer he took to find his “proof”. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” he murmured under his breath as he made his way up the steps towards the podium. “Here, a contract of employment as a - “ his voice trembled, and he hesitated. Announcing that he’d been hired as a burglar would only bring him more chaos, and at this point all he wanted was to get back home and take a bath. “Well, it doesn’t quite matter what, but it’s official. There see! My signature!”

As Mr Burrowes took the contract that was handed towards him to investigate the signature, an irate and emotional Bilbo made his way back down to grab his spoons - giving a pointed glare at Lobelia - before turning and marching towards his door, his shield clinking against pieces of furniture that was haphazardly sitting on his lawn. He had just made it to his door - which was wide open and the paint faintly faded - when Mr. Burrowes called out to him. 

“Who is this person you pledged your services to, Mister Bilbo?” He quickly glanced back down at the contract, his finger hovering over the names at the bottom. “This, Thorin Oakenshield?”

Bilbo stopped, his hand reaching for the handle on the door, before he looked back over at the auctioneer. His eyes burned and his throat was tight when he choked out his reply. “He was,” he hesitated, his eyes dropping down to the ground, “he was my friend.” He pushed the door open the rest of the way before stepping inside. His house was ransacked, most of his furniture and possession either sat outside on his yard, or scattered half-way around the Shire, but at the moment, Bilbo just wanted to find his bed and sleep.

\-----

It’s been six weeks since Bilbo made it back to Bag End. Six weeks since Gandalf had escorted him to the borders of Hobbiton, and over five months since he’d left Erebor - and all his friends - behind. Spring had now fully settled in the Shire, the sun was shining and warmth was in the air. Bilbo had done his best to settle back into the atmosphere of the Shire, he’d had people over for tea, and had gone to the few parties that had happened since he returned, but he never felt quite settled. Perhaps Gandalf had been right, he’d never be the same since he returned.

There was an afternoon, a few short days after he returned, that he hadn’t been able to find the ring, and spent the rest of the day running around Hobbiton frantically checking all the places he had walked, checking to make sure it hadn’t fallen out of the deep pocket into the grass. He had given up hope and had just been walking into his smial when he caught a glimpse of it tucked under one of the counter ledges.

He had purchased a thin golden chain immediately the following day.

Now, he was either seen with the chain wrapped around his wrist - hands deep in the pockets - idly playing with the ring, or the chain was draped around his throat.

When he had first left on his adventure, he had complained whole heartedly about missing his books, and his arm-chair, and all the comforts of his home, but he soon found after getting home - and retrieving all his possessions from his neighbors - that he no longer longed for these comforts, that now he longed for the comforts of friends, of comradery, of the family he had made on the road. But it was a scary thing to run out your door, and Bilbo found himself terrified to leave.

It was a Trewsday evening, and while the night’s air was warm enough, Bilbo found himself wrapped in the familiar weight of Thorin’s coat, his hands tucked deep in the pockets, one clenched in the fabric while the other played with the ring nestled deep inside. It was something he was never found without, the ring. 

His dinner finished, Bilbo had been sitting in his chair drinking his tea, when he climbed to his feet. There was no point in being restless and uncomfortable when he could use the restless energy elsewhere! He shrugged the coat further up onto his shoulders, before patting his chest to make sure the ring was still there. He’d go for a walk around the Shire, clear his head and then go back and go to bed. 

His feet carried him quickly down the curving path up to Bag End, towards the markets - now closed due to the late time of evening - and out into the fields of surrounding the smials of Hobbiton. He used to walk these paths with his parents daily, and after they had passed he hadn’t been able to bring himself to walk them anymore. He could see the old brown fence that lined the edges of the paths, the wood sun bleached and chipped in places due to its age and lack of upkeep. 

_“This is the Shire of my childhood.”_ He walked further up the hill, his fingers lightly trailing over the railing _. “These were the borders of my life,”_ He glanced down the side of the hill towards the big oak tree that stood on top of Bag End. _“In that crumbling, dusty smial, where my father loved his wife.”_ He made his way up the biggest hill on the edge of the Shires borders and sat. He could see all of Hobbiton from here, all the places his parents had taken him as a fauntling - all the _memories_ he had - and realized that this wasn’t home anymore. Hadn’t been since his parents had passed away, and wouldn’t ever be home again. 

Home was with his family - his new family - in Erebor. 

“ _Easy to remember, harder to move on. Knowing the Shire of my childhood is gone.”_


End file.
